Those Damned Gloves
by readergrl56
Summary: They were old, they were ugly, and they were making her confused. God, how Ino hated Shikamaru's gloves. AU InoXShikamaru. Other minor pairings
1. Chapter 1

What up, you guys? This is the result of a little brain-blast I had during the Yuletide season. Unfortunately, I was not rapidly writing enough to get it done by Christmas (which is when it's set). I'll try to push myself to get it done before, or just a little after, Valentine's Day. Then I'll still have the mushy-gushy feel of a romantic season, and there'll still be snow on the ground. If that doesn't happen, I'll try to finish it before Winter's end (which, in the North, is like mid-April). It's just a short, multi-chapter fic. Nothing overly complicated, pretty simple.

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For many, the arrival of winter meant warmer clothes, the quiet of a snowfall, and the promise of cuddling up to a loved one on Christmas, dreams of staying together until Valentine's Day wrapped up snugly in the back of the mind. For Ino, winter should have meant all of these. Sure, business was slow at the shop (around this time, bouquets of flowers were usually replaced with boxes of jewelry), but thrills were usually replaced. Winter came with a whole new wardrobe where elegance, not flirtatiousness, was key in picking out an outfit. Everyone was cheery around December; snow was still a beautiful gift from nature, instead of the hellish curse it became mid-January. High spirits meant boys brave enough to walk up and ask her to dinner. From age thirteen on, Ino had never spent Christmas dateless.

The overall atmosphere of winter was very pleasing to Ino, though she appreciated the warmth of spring quite a lot more. No, what dampened Ino's mood every single season change was in the details. Specifically, the detail of a certain pair of gloves.

They lay harmlessly in a coat pocket throughout most of the year, until that time when the owner was forced to pull them out to protect his hands against the troublesome cold. Artificial mold seemed to have sprouted from the smashed pocket lint to cover the pair in a knobby, putrid green fabric. Twenty years ago, when the gloves were in their prime, they might have looked decent, even…_stylish_. Time, however, wore away patches in the fingers and created holes in the palms. Well…Time and Ino. In a teeny _little_ wine-fueled hate-fest, she grabbed a pair of scissors and chopped each and every finger off of the gloves. She had reassured herself of her actions, knowing that Shikamaru would either get rid of the gloves or risk looking homeless.

He opted for the homeless look, probably knowing that it would piss Ino off even more. (It did.) She cursed herself for not burning the fingers when, a few days later, the gloves were back to their past (very, very distant past) glory. Damn Temari and her seasonal hobbies. She just _had_ to pick that winter to take up sewing. Ino made sure to stick pins in a mental Temari voodoo doll every time the stitch marks were visible.

She then tried to replace the gloves with something a bit more modern and presentable. One Christmas, she went out of her way to buy these beautiful, expensive leather gloves. A thin layer of wool lined the insides so that they became thermal within seconds of putting them on. The leather was guaranteed to be water proof and of the highest quality. Shikamaru could have beaten the gloves with a spiked club, and then frozen them in a block of ice. After defrosting them, the gloves would have still been eons ahead of his old pair in terms of respectability. She had even bought them in a rich chocolate brown color to complement the dark green clothes he always insisted on wearing.

Six months later, she found them stuffed in the corner of a kitchen cabinet in his parents' house. The tags were still intact. After confronting him, she stormed off to her apartment and put the gloves into storage. She figured that she wouldn't waste her money on him anymore and resolved to give the pair to her future Christmas date. When the time came, she found herself not able to part with them. They ended up being angrily thrown into a box of decorations.

Eventually, Ino decided to give in. Not give up, mind you. She would never let Shikamaru best her in a battle of the wills. She decided to keep her dignity by not outwardly resenting the pair, but by keeping a mental hatred strong, hoping that the sheer force of her feelings would manifest itself in the spontaneous destruction of the gloves.

Maybe fate had decided to favor her one time, or some deity up in the heavens wanted to give her a good day. Perhaps she had finally moved up the ranks on St. Nick's "Nice" list. Whatever the reason, she sure was pleased when she found herself facing the gloves once again. Only this time they sat alone, forgotten on the bar's counter. Shikamaru had already left, filled up with a few servings of scotch. He and Chouji were mutually supporting each other on their way to their respective apartments. The scene was set. All Ino needed to do was pull off the perfect crime.

Should she just leave them there? They would be thrown away by the bartender, or tossed into some ancient "Lost and Found" box, where the possibility that they would be picked up by another blind loser was still significant enough to warrant concern. Besides, she had _history_ with these gloves. No one ever became a hero by letting someone else finish their battle for them. She snatched the gloves up from the wooden surface, making sure to jam her nails into the wad to force maximum humiliation on her cloth adversary. They would remain shoved into her purse until she got home. Then, the fun would begin.

Dismemberment, water torture, burning, and shredding. The shiver of delight that ran down her spine made her wonder if she would have been a good inquisitor. The best part was that Shikamaru would never suspect it was her. _He_ had been the one to leave his gloves at the bar. _His_ irresponsibility was the downfall of his clothing. She cackled like a cartoon villainess at the thought and got a few perplexed stares from the other patrons around her.

The ride home was pure agony. There were too many people getting on and off the bus; it made her want to scream. A conflict between the driver and a rider made her want to pulverize both of them, hijack the vehicle, and drive it straight to her apartment. Finally, an eternity after she got on, the bus pulled up to her stop. At least she had made use of the time by making sure her door key was in her hands, poised in the perfect position to strike at her lock. She couldn't have slammed open the door any harder with how focused she was on killing the gloves.

The first thing she noticed was the music. Had she left the radio on? It was a tune that had been popular a few months back, but was still one of Ino's favorites. Then she realized it was her cell phone. She had left it on her bed in her haste to get ready and leave earlier in the day. The gloves would have to wait.

The music ended just before she reached the device, but a quick scan of the display showed her that the call was from Sakura. The previous nine missed calls and twenty unread texts were also from Sakura. A quick review of her voicemail showed Ino exactly why Sakura had been so desperate to reach her. The first message consisted of a breathless Sakura loudly screaming into the phone, "Ino! SASUKE PROPOSED!" followed by a hasty disconnection. The next nine messages followed Sakura from unbridled enthusiasm, to wistful planning, to the actual planning, and culminated in three successive messages where she realized the horror that a wedding to one of Japan's biggest CEOs would entail. The endings of the final messages were all different versions of "Ino, get your ass over here NOW!" with the use of profanity and derogatory slang becoming more common as the messages progressed.

Ino called her back right after reviewing the messages. While she was overjoyed for her friend, she knew that Sakura was a planner and would begin to work out the details straight away. (Indeed, she already had started.) After calming Sakura down, via the use of copious amounts of rude nicknames and reality checks, the two agreed that Ino would stay the night at her place and help her figure out some of the preliminary details. Ino knew that this would become a night of gushing consisting of Sasuke and the proposal, cursing out Sasuke and the proposal, eating chocolate ice cream, and drinking lots and lots of delicious, _calming_ wine. She noted the gloves in her purse with vague annoyance, but she was too busy thinking about other things to give them more thought than about how they made a nice pillow for her phone.

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Thanks for reading! Reviews are loved. Chapter 2: coming ULTRA SUPER FABULOUSLY soon


	2. Chapter 2

I'm buried under a pile of snow and ice right now. Stupid groundhog... On a happier note, I recently took a trip to our city's "China Street" (we're not special enough to have a true China Town). Besides making me feel like a complete idiot for not being fluent in Mandarin/Cantonese, I bought some amazing jasmine tea from one of the shops. Mmmmm

Also, I've diagnosed myself. I have an inability to update quickly. Even when the chapter is completely typed out and edited (Oh! Shout-out to my new Beta "Renting" for her amazing work) I still cannot post it. Ugh. It's a truly horrid disease.

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The morning greeted Ino with a blanket of snow covering the city and the weatherman's promise for even more in the hours to come. After working out some of the more daunting details with Sakura, Ino had left the fiancées to their own devices and had taken up residence in their guestroom. She refused their offer to drive her to work; she knew they would use the extra time in the morning to fully "celebrate" the engagement, and she didn't want to cut into that rare, stress-free moment in Sakura's life. The bus ride, however, reminded her of why she really would've preferred riding in a car. The lack of heat made Ino's breath visible and eventually she found that she couldn't feel her lower extremities.

Work was exhausting. For some reason, the entire metropolitan population had decided to order their Christmas bouquets on the same day that the shop had to make arrangements for two weddings and a funeral. By the end of the day, Ino's hands were stained dark purple from the mixture of flower dyes, and she was so fatigued that she could barely stand up straight. Ignoring the cost, she flagged down a taxi and slipped in. She had hoped that at least the individual car would have a central heating system. She was proven wrong. The heat was on, but only through the seat. Her butt was boiling hot while her nose dripped icicles.

Her hands were especially cold. The fingers had turned white and were shaking a bit. She tried shoving them in her pockets, but that didn't work. And there was no way she would put them in either one of the warmest places on her body. She had too much dignity to shove them in her armpits or down by her crotch. She chastised herself for forgetting her gloves at her apartment. She hadn't even packed a scarf or hat from which she could've made a substitute hand wrap.

A desperate search of her purse led to the feel of cloth beneath her hands. Ino paused, feeling it, wondering what the heck it was. Then she remembered. A mental groan surfaced from the depths of her mind. The battle had started. Should she wear them? Such an act would violate every single principle about fashion she owned. It would be akin to wearing socks with sandals. But, unlike any other fashion faux pas, wearing the gloves would bring her insane amounts of comfort. The battle waged on until a violent shiver throughout her body confirmed her decision. Giving up on her morals was less important than freezing to death. Besides, it was for one time only.

She averted her eyes as she put them on. It was a tactic used by people viewing much greater atrocities, so why shouldn't it work for her? Once they were on, she would barely notice them. She would barely acknowledge her failure as a fashionista and as an enemy to this particular pair of hand covering. The gloves slipped on with no resistance, partially because her hands were chiseled smooth from the cold and partially because they were molded to fit a man's hands that were bigger than her own. The inside was soft, and it warmed to her touch. The feeling of the inner fabric was remarkably like the outer fabric. Sometimes, she had grabbed Shikamaru's hand while he was wearing them. There was nothing significant about it; it was usually just a touch to get him to move faster or to displace her anger when some bimbo really ticked her off. However, the softness of the gnarled fabric had always secretly amazed her.

The feeling of the fabric-_his_ fabric-encompassing her hand was strange. It felt like he was there, his fingers entwined with hers and their palm resting against each other. The sensation intensified when she interlocked her fingers. Mesmerized, she brought a covered hand up to her face. If she dragged her fingers across her cheek, she could feel him caressing it, cupping her cheek tenderly in his palm. When her thumb accidentally brushed her lips, she felt him smooth them out, preparing them so he could lean in and envelope them in a kis-HOLY SHIT! What was she thinking?

Ino jerked out of her trance. Why had she thought that about _him_? About _Shikamaru_? Dear God, she must've been more delusional than she originally thought. This was all those stupid gloves' fault! She ripped them off her hands and rammed them back into her purse. They were the ones that played with her thoughts when she was barely awake! They were the essence of evil themselves. Besides, the cabbie was going to pull up to her building at any moment, and she didn't even feel cold anymore. She refused to acknowledge that the source of her newfound warmth was the fiery blush spreading across her face.

After rushing into her apartment, she made sure to toss her purse to the farthest corner of the table. She barely gave it a passing glance before sitting in a chair at the opposite corner from where the purse lay. No way was she going to touch or even look at the accursed things. They took advantage of her tired, unguarded mind, and put in images that probably-NO! _definitely_-would've never turned up in there.

She realized that her emotions caused this. Of course! She'd just spent a whole night planning a wedding that wasn't hers. Talking with the happy couple had undoubtedly stirred up emotions like the need for love and for desire. The busy work day had lowered her defenses so that when the gloves reminded her of Shikamaru, he was the one who popped into her head to fill that empty desire. Heck, if she'd been wearing Chouji's gloves, the same thing probably would've happened, but with Chouji instead. Now all she had to do was imagine Chouji in the same situation, running his hand across her cheek, caressing her lips, and going in for the kiss…

Her mind instantly recoiled at the thought.

Okay! That didn't work. She drew her brows together, trying to think of another solution. Why didn't Chouji work? In all honesty, he'd make a wonderful boyfriend. He was friendly, thoughtful, and would know how to make the best chocolate cake if a girl ever asked for it. Then why did the thought of dating him make her feel like she was dating her cousin? Gross!

Maybe she was just being shallow. Many guys-and girls-had accused her of that. Perhaps they were right. It could be her tragic flaw. In any case, she could name plenty of attractive young men who would fit a shallow person's image of a boyfriend quite nicely. That guy who always came into her shop to buy lilacs fit the description to a tee. They'd gone out on a few dates, and she'd even considered letting him accompany her on Christmas. She tried imagining him on Christmas Eve, dressed in a tailored jacket as he reached up to brush snowflakes out of her hair. Her cheek would be cupped in gloved hands, the thumb resting against her lips. Her eyes closed, savoring the image. After a few seconds of contentment, he would lean in for a kiss. She watched, through half-lidded eyes, as his spiky ponytail bobbed up and down in the winter air as he moved his head.

Wait a minute. Hitoshi's hair was short, and it was never in a ponytail. The only person she knew with that kind of ponytail was…God damnit! How had he entered into her fantasies yet again?

Ino ran her fingers through her hair. This was all too messy to deal with right now. She should really get some tea and go to bed. She stood up, but immediately had to clutch the edge of the table to get her balance. She decided to nix the tea part of her plan and just go to bed. She barely had time to wash up and change clothes before she found herself passed out under the blankets. At least, she reasoned, her unparalleled exhaustion would mean no chance of having dreams about a certain _someone_.

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Any and all reviews are loved!


	3. Chapter 3

Oh my goodness you guys, it's Spring! Now is the time for all of us to go Tra-la-la-ing through the flowers. Except, in _certain_ places (grumblegrumble) March decided to come in like a lion and go out like another freaking lion! The exact same weather as February (ie. snow, snow, snow). I get frostbite when I Tra-la-la and the flowers are encased in ice. Not fun.

In other news, I am still in shock over "Insane Beta Magic" (as I have come to term it.) Fabulous Beta Renting got this, and the next chapter, done in ONE DAY. For a procrastinator like me, that small amount of time is basically incomprehensible. So, congrats Beta Renting! We make a great pair.

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Ino's subconscious had, quite generously, not graced her with any unwanted images during her sleep. She woke with a clear head and a determination to return the gloves and put this whole incident behind her. All it would take was a meeting with Shikamaru and then the gloves would be out of her life and Shikamaru would be out of her head. A perfect solution.

A quick phone call on the bus ride to work set up the first part of her plan. She chatted with Shikamaru's receptionist and the girl found a break in between appointments for Ino to drop by, which corresponded beautifully with Ino's lunch hour. Ino arrived at work in an exceptionally good mood and surprised the entire staff when she announced that she would be going out for lunch. She hadn't left for lunch in years, not even for a quick date.

Shikamaru's office was in a modern, high-rise building that housed six other firms, two independent companies, and, "Way too many damn people," according to Shikamaru. His receptionist, Ami, smiled at Ino as she walked through the door.

Ino studied Ami's desk while walking across the room. What if she just gave the gloves to the girl and went on her way, claiming she had to attend a last-minute meeting? It would certainly eliminate any awkward encounters with Shikamaru, and-she was certain-would work out to his benefit, too. He couldn't stand company, and her company was usually the worst of it all. Yes, that was the best solution. She turned to relay it to Ami, thinking up a quick excuse, but she was stopped before she could get out a word.

"Mr. Nara said you can just head into his office, Ms. Yamanaka." Damn.

Why had the wooden door to Shikamaru's office never seemed so intimidating before? Why couldn't it have been made out of paper? A nice sliding door that she could use her nails ("More like claws," grumbled Shikamaru, right before he got smacked) to tear through should she need to quickly escape. Solid wood was just so … solid. Nothing could get through it if she needed to retreat.

No! She was Ino Yamanaka! Her ancestors had fought and died in wars. She would not be intimidated by one measly little lawyer, no matter how many of her fantasies he had been in. That was done and over with. She would control her mind; her mind would not control her. With that thought, she strolled confidentially into the office, ready to make her case.

Her confidence vanished as soon as the door closed behind her. How was that even possible? Emotions shouldn't just come and go as they please. They should bend to the will of the owner! She should be the one telling them what to feel, not the other way around.

Except … Shikamaru was looking really, _really_ handsome today. He was sitting in an armchair with an open book in one hand. Why had she never noticed that his reading glasses made him look like the genius he'd been proven to be, or that rolled-up shirtsleeves was now her official favorite look on a man? (They accentuated the forearm muscles. Mmm.) She didn't even try to pull herself out of the haze. She could always do that later. Much later.

Thankfully, Shikamaru broke the haze for her. "You didn't eat lunch, did you?" he asked, not even looking up from the book he was perusing.

Ino cursed herself for letting her mind drift away. What if he had noticed her staring at him? He didn't appear to have, but that was only this time. Next time (although there was to be no "next time," she mentally promised) she wouldn't be so lucky.

"No," she said, "but I'll pick something up on my way back to work and eat on the bus."

"No need. I had Ami order something for you after she told me you were coming. It's on my desk."

Strange. Shikamaru had never been the type of person to order food for her. She could understand his reasoning. Inevitably, whatever he ordered would be too high in fat or calories. She found the box under a heavy law book, and lifted the slightly-crushed lid. The fish inside looked to be healthy, but also delicious. She was touched, but she also had to accept the likely truth. He probably knew that she would be hungry and, instead of having his lunch attacked by her picky fingers, he just figured that the best plan was to order her a separate dish. He probably didn't even pick it out and let Ami do the choosing instead.

Truthfully, he couldn't care less about her. She was just his childhood friend who bugged him all the time and could always be relied on for unwanted orders. He would be better suited for an intelligent girl- like his ex Temari–than for someone who ran a flower shop inherited from her parents. The thought saddened her, and she was surprised at just how much it saddened her. She had resigned herself to the fact that she was lusting after Shikamaru, but the sudden spring of emotions was confusing and unpleasant.

Ino set the container back down on top of the book, her appetite gone. "You left your gloves at the bar. I was just bringing them back to you." She pulled the atrocities from her purse and held them out to him.

Shikamaru finally looked up from his reading. "I thought you hated those. Why didn't you just throw them away or something?" His face was stoic, but she could make out the slight furrow of his brows that meant he was genuinely puzzled.

"Oh, please. The way you've been with these, if I threw them away you probably would have jumped into my apartment's dumpster and fished them out." She laughed a bit, but they both knew it was forced. Her gaze lowered to the gloves. Strangely, now that she was parting with them, she felt a speck of sorrow. What was the deal with that? Reverse Stockholm syndrome, she figured.

She heard Shikamaru get up from his chair, and looked up when she felt him right in front of her. Holy smokes, he was close. As in, 'My nose is just about to shank you in the chest' close. She had always loathed him for being taller than her. Obviously it was just puberty's doing, but the height difference gave him a biological advantage over her. Ino supposed that puberty was also the cause of the hormones racing through her. Their proximity to one another was making her all too aware of the heat radiating from his body and the scent of cologne, which he almost never wore. Gosh, puberty really sucked.

She didn't get why he was hesitating. He seemed perfectly content to stand there while the long seconds ticked by. His eyes flicked back and forth; he was studying her. It made her cheeks pink. She shoved the gloves in front of his face. "Here you go! Perfectly all right, just how you left them!"

He stared at her for an eternity. Ino wondered if she didn't look absolutely insane holding out the gloves and if he was constructing a mental list of asylums close enough to drop her at before the end of his break. She really wished he would just choose a place quickly; she was getting very uncomfortable.

Finally a break in the tension! Shikamaru reached up and eased the gloves out of her hands. She didn't particularly like how his fingers seemed to fall off the edge of the fabric to land on her skin, nor how long they stayed in that position, giving her time to feel the ridges of his fingerprints against her palm.

"Thanks," he said.

"Don't mention it," she replied. An uncomfortably stagnant second passed. Then she blurted "I have to go!" and she darted towards the door, ignoring any attempts by him to stop her.

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You guys know how much I love reviews!


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys! I decided to be super nice and productive today. I got this chapter all revised and posted it. Hopefully the next chapter will be written soon. It all depends on how real life work is affecting my productivity. Fun fun fun fun

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Later in the day Ino found herself sitting in her flower shop, nibbling at the convenience store onigiri her reestablished hunger had persuaded her to buy. Now that she was emotionally stable and had raised her blood sugar, she decided that she could really assess the situation at hand. First off, she should apologize to Shikamaru. She really had been rude to just barge out of his office in such a hurry. She wondered if he would even accept her apology. He was never very good at emotional situations. She supposed that she could just pay for a drink or two of his the next time they met up.

Next she had to think about why Shikamaru acted so weird at their meeting. On a normal day, she would have been ordered to leave the gloves in his office with minimal conversation and movement on his part. Better yet, she just would have left them with Ami so he wouldn't be disturbed. The fact that he not only decided to talk to her, but also bought her lunch, walked over to her, and lingered freaked her out. Had he acted that way in the past? No, not really. Except there had been a few times when he was overly friendly (i.e. friendly _at all_) and stared at her longer than was really necessary. But that was only when he was drunk and it had only recently started happening.

As she pondered, she heard the tinkling of the front entrance bells, followed a few seconds later by the slamming of the backroom door. She got annoyed and tried to think of which employee would be rude enough to use the customer entrance and then slam the door on their way in. She didn't have to think for long, however, because a few milliseconds later a flash of pink flew into her office.

"Sakura!" Ino cried, surprised at the sudden entrance. "Why are you here?"

"Did you know about an _engagement party_?" stormed Sakura. Her hair was in a crazed mess and her face glowed red from both the cold outside and her apparent rage.

"Well," Ino began, "having a ceremony _is_ custom."

"I'm not talking about some little get-together with my parents. I'm talking about a real big freaking party!" Sakura paced across the office floor as she fumed. "These past two days I've been all happy, calmly planning the wedding, counting on it being a few months from now." Ino noticed how Sakura neglected to mention her freak out right after the proposal, but she thought it best not to bring up petty details. "Then, just this morning, Sasuke turns to me and tells me about an _engagement party_. On Christmas Eve. Apparently _our_ engagement party is going to take place a few days after the family ceremony. Do you realize how soon that is? It's three fucking weeks away! Oh sure, Sasuke tells me that he's hired the best party planner in the city, the one used to throwing big celebrations. But that only gets me to realize just how big this whole thing is going to be. There's family and friends, yes, but also tons of important business colleagues and people from all over because Sasuke's just one big fucking celebrity!"

Ino watched her friend walk back and forth, smoothing out a path in the floorboards. Frankly, she was a little worried for Sakura's mental well-being during the course of this engagement. What Sasuke should have really done was organize everything himself and then pop the question a few days (or hours) before the wedding. Sure Sakura would have blown a gasket, but months upon months of anxiety would've never surface. Of course, if Ino ever suggested letting other people take over the preparations, there would be one more strangulation to add to the "Bridezillas Gone Bad" list. She would like to at least see her best friend get married before dying an untimely death, thank you very much.

"Why don't you just let the party planner handle it? She certainly sounds adept." A lethal glare. Oops, wrong answer. "Or … you could handle it on your off-time. If you want, we could provide the floral and Chouji could cater. Naruto could, um, provide the inebriated entertainment." That got a chuckle. Okay! Now if she could just ease into somewhere without being afraid of more homicidal rage ... "But really, will you have the time? No, not with the way the hospital's been running you rampant these days. Have the planner take care of the finer details, and then guide her towards the big picture. You never wanted to be a ditzy housewife whose sole occupation in life was waiting for her big business husband to come home and wait on her. You wanted to have your own life, your own job. Don't shirk the responsibilities of the hospital just to plan the wedding, nor do you want to kill yourself trying to give a hundred percent commitment to each. If you do that, neither one is going to turn out how you want it to."

Ino's words finally seemed to get through to Sakura. Thank God. She plopped down on the chair across from Ino's desk and reached over to steal a bottom corner of rice from Ino's onigiri. "Yeah, I guess you're right," sighed Sakura.

"Of course I'm right," smirked Ino as revenge for her stolen lunch. "When have _I_ ever been wrong in an argument with _you_?"

"I was right about Rock Lee being straight!" exclaimed Sakura.

"No you weren't! He's as gay as they come!"

"He's dating Tenten!"

"Ever hear of a _beard_, Sakura?"

"Ever hear of _metrosexuality_, Ino? It's popular today, but then again you wouldn't know a current trend if it bit you in the ass."

"This coming from the lady who would _still_ be wearing the same outfits from when she was fifteen if not for my fashion intervention."

The bickering continued until a particularly timid employee stuck his head in and received an enflamed "WHAT?" from both of the room's occupants. He hurriedly rattled off the name of an important customer who was waiting to be served personally by Ino then scurried off.

The two women realized how long they'd been talking and stood up to leave. As they parted, Sakura turned back to Ino and said "Oh, yeah. This'll be a 'plus one' type of invitation, so bring someone yummy I can ogle on my way to spinsterhood."

Ino smiled. "Will do." She waved 'goodbye' to Sakura and headed over to take care of the customer.

Throughout the talk of ivory versus pure white, red versus scarlet, Ino tried to focus on the different color patterns. She told herself it was to give the customer the best service available, but she knew she was fooling herself. What she was really trying to do was forget the image of a tall, ponytailed man that had popped up in her mind with Sakura's mention of a "plus one."

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	5. Chapter 5

Hey y'all! Sorry it's been forever since I updated. You ever have one of those weeks where you're busy busy busy and don't have a minute to do ANYTHING but fall down dead? Yeah, imagine 6 months of that and you'll know how my summer went. On the other hand, it's now Fall and cold, so the temperature in this fic isn't so completely fantastical. (Fantastical. Don't you just love that word? It sounds fake _but it's not_. Yeah boy!)

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The weeks that followed seemed to be lumped together in one big anxious mass. Ino had to juggle the stress of the upcoming party, shared oh-so-nicely with her by Sakura, and the stress of being in lov—no, no, _lusting_ _after_—Shikamaru. At least she could always blame the party planning for her sleepless nights and frazzled daytime attitude instead of admitting it was the fear of continuing graphic daydreams.

Ino also made sure to avoid Shikamaru at any cost, not wanting to replay the awkward lunchtime meeting. She made excuses to avoid the weekly get-together with him and Chouji. Usually, she used the party planning as a reliable ally. One time, she scheduled a date with Hitoshi on drink night. When she called Chouji's cell phone with the newfound excuse, the voice she heard wasn't the chef's. Instead, she found herself spending an incredibly uncomfortable three minutes explaining her date to Shikamaru. Ino was unable to relax during her night out, feeling like she was an adulterous wife about to be caught on camera. The evening ended early, and Ino knew any relationship she might have had with Hitoshi was finished.

Snow wasn't promised for Christmas Eve, but a piercing cold spell was. True to prediction, on the day of the party people bundled in layers, hoping to create a wall of protection between themselves and the chill. As she slipped silver bangles onto her wrist, Ino realized that she hadn't fulfilled her obligation to bring a sexy 'plus-one' for Sakura to ogle. Previous plans for Hitoshi to come had dissolved with their relationship and Ino hadn't thought of anyone new to bring. She supposed the party would have some young businessmen or politicians she could get acquainted with. She'd just have to stay away from the lawyers and childhood friends.

Apparently, Sasuke's party planner hadn't gotten the memo about 'no childhood friends.' Ino stood beneath a giant crystal chandelier, dumbfounded at the sight of four small signs. To a woman who had to place people at tables based on a very brief outline of their relationships, this would seem to be the right order. Longtime friends were all sitting at the same table, the closest put next to each other. The seats were even arranged in a simple 'boy-girl-boy' fashion. Only one of the six guests had brought a date, perfectly filling the seven seats assigned to every table. Family and friends were so easy to put into place, one didn't have to worry about rivals in the business or political world.

Ino supposed she should give credit to the planner, but her mind was in too much shock to register anything but complete hatred for the person who set these little ivory place-holders down. There, delicately written in golden calligraphy, were the names "Chouji Akimichi, Ino Yamanaka, Shikamaru Nara, and _Ami Yukimura_." What the hell? Shikamaru had brought his _secretary_? Did this mean that the two were dating? If so, that meant any brief ideas Ino had imagined up in the past few weeks about Shikamaru was utterly ridiculous. She had spent so much time pushing away fantasies about her friend without fully acknowledging the grain of truth imbedded in each one, turning out to be a silly woman who pined after something that wasn't hers. It was like her high school crush on Sasuke all over again, but worse. With Shikamaru, she had imagined the reality of mutual feelings. Even in the extreme stages of her crush, she never expected Sasuke to love her: he was always Sakura's man.

The room was quickly getting blurry. Crap! Even though she had just experienced a blow to her emotional ego, Ino knew that looking like a demon with mascara running down from her bloodshot eyes wasn't going to help anything. Thankfully, she had arrived early to lend any last-minute assistance to Sakura, so the only people who saw her rush out of the hall were workers still setting up and a few timely guests.

Safe in a bathroom stall, Ino concocted a plan that would get her through the night. After she was done blotting her eyes with a wad of toilet paper, she would march back into the hall like her warrior ancestors. Who cared if Shikamaru had that little hussy wrapped around him all night? _She_ certainly didn't. Chouji made for great mealtime company. And the dance portion of the evening? No problem! She knew how to attract the attention of hot young men. If successfully executed, her plan would have her on her feet all night.

The hall was considerably fuller when Ino walked back in. She hadn't realized the amount of time she'd spent in the bathroom composing herself. Undoubtedly, the table would be full now. A mantra replayed in Ino's head as she walked, telling her to keep up her confidence. A few looks and one early dance invitation from some of Sasuke's younger colleagues helped her along. She went into full flirt mode, throwing back promising smiles and even a wink for the bold commenter. By the time she reached the table, Ino had worked up a confident strut and was all smiles as she sat between Chouji and Shikamaru.

"We were wondering where you were." As Chouji talked, Ino made note of everyone who sat around her. They were all there: Chouji, Shino, Hinata, Kiba, Ami, and, of course, Shikamaru. Ino disliked how Shikamaru's eyes were intently fixed on her, reminiscent of the way he studied her during their last meeting. Deciding to ignore him, she turned back to Chouji.

"I was just doing some last-minute makeup touch ups," she said. It was close enough to the truth without being too revealing.

"Oh," replied Chouji, signaling that the discussion was over. Thankfully, Ino was known for making a fuss about her appearance, so any beauty-related excuse was perfectly acceptable.

Dinner was uncomfortable, to say the least. Ino made a point of only talking to Chouji and ignoring any attempts made by Ami or Shikamaru to engage her in conversation. The Kiba-Hinata-Shino trio felt the massive amounts of dark energy radiating from Ino and decided it was in their best interests to stay out of the apparent feud. Kiba spent the time bragging to Hinata, who spent her time beet-red in eternal embarrassment. Shino remained silent, quietly lamenting the absence of bugs in the winter.

Ino knew she was making Chouji feel awkward, but she didn't care. He was more allied with Shikamaru and probably knew about this workplace romance all along. Now the enemy, he deserved all the hate she would've dumped on Shikamaru if she had been talking to him.

Just as Ino was ready to pull out her ever-trusty comment on the size of Chouji's food pile, a smudge of white appeared in the corner of her eye. She turned to look and saw a rather chubby, nervous-looking young woman in a chef's uniform. Chouji saw Ino's attention change and glanced up to see the object of interest.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting," the woman said, twisting her hands together, "but one of my waiters noticed that you were _the_ Chouji Akimichi and, well, I just had to come meet you. My name is Chiaki Shimizu. I'm the caterer and I've always been a big fan of yours. I've actually employed some of your methods to help me with my Japanese food."

"Ah, yes. I thought I tasted a resemblance. Though I did notice more sophistication with the traditional French cuisine. Where did you study?" All traces of discomfort had dissipated from Chouji's demeanor. He always got this way when talking about cooking, but there seemed to be a little something more sprinkled on top. Ino decided to see where this was going.

"Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. I stayed there for a couple years to better my technique."

To Ino's amazement, the woman was calming down. A soothing aura emanated off of Chouji. This girl, Chiaki, was practically bathing in it. And Chouji! He was so smooth, so demure. Where had the tubby boy from Ino's childhood gone to? Now, Chouji was confidently talking with someone of the opposite sex, reeling Chiaki in. Holy hell. Where had her friend gone to and where had this, this … _player_ come from?

Ino took a sip of wine to calm her down. There were too many surprises tonight. Her old lady nerves couldn't handle them.

Soon a new kind of awkward tension became apparent. The dinner portion of the evening had ended, and guests were making their way out to the dance floor. Chiaki was bumped as people passed her. Ino could tell the other woman wanted to stay to talk to Chouji, but felt in the way. Feeling gallant, Ino made a show of going to seek out a dance partner, clearly telling the table not to wait up. In her absence, Chiaki could have a seat, Chouji could get a girlfriend, and Ino could get a godchild named after her. It was a winning situation for all.

True to her prediction, Ino had no trouble finding someone to dance with. She twisted to the energetic songs and swayed to the slow ones. Never-ending streams of handsome men popped up with each song change. Some of them were quite skilled at dancing, while others just wanted to be close to her. She didn't mind either way. As long as she was away from that dreaded table, she was perfectly content.

At the end of yet another dance, she spotted Sakura and Sasuke walking around to converse with people. She abandoned her partner, apologizing sweetly, and went to greet her friend. Thankfully, Sakura appeared calm. They talked briefly about the party, exchanged some idle gossip, and made plans for real discussion at a later date when eager ears, hungry for incriminating facts about Sasuke, weren't so abundant. Though she did mention seeing everyone else at Ino's table, and had no definite knowledge of the sudden change in feelings towards Shikamaru, Sakura made no mention of the former classmate's odd choice of a date. For this subconscious insight, Ino was thankful.

Just like a prelude to their wedding greetings, Sakura and Sasuke weren't able to chat long, leaving Ino alone once more. Her feet throbbed, leaving more dancing out of the equation. She could faintly spy her table over the lake of heads scattered throughout the hall. The table looked deserted, but that could've just been a trick of sight. Still, she had nothing better to do than to walk over.

The table was not empty, but nearly so. Shino was the only occupant. With a little encouragement and a lot of interpretation on her part, Ino worked out that both Hinata and Kiba had been asked to dance, Chouji was cooking (in more ways than one) with Chiaki, and the Deceitful Duo (her words, not his) had gone to places unknown.

There had apparently not been a round of cleaning up following the post-dinner dessert rush. Gold-rimmed china plates, brushed with the hues of sauce stains and dessert crumbs, lay haphazard over the table. Water glasses, still frosty with condensation, partnered with the plates to create elegantly grotesque marriages. A lone wineglass proudly dwarfed the stumpy cups, its rim colored pink with lipstick; a perpetual semi-kiss of ownership. The embossed card of certified ownership, with the ivory still in pristine condition, lay on its back near the glass's base. Ino picked it up. She wondered if the woman had reapplied her makeup after smudging it off. She must have. Right now those lips were probably grazing against their boss's jaw, seducing their way to a dance, a car … a bed. There was no competition between herself and Ami. Not anymore.

Shino, she realized, was staring at her. He made no comment, being either polite or uncaring. Ino appreciated his silence and didn't care to break it, only smiling slightly to indicate her departure.

She'd had enough with the men here, loathing the fake smiles which hid their fake personalities. An angelic green light glowed a few tables down, signaling an opportunity to exit. Few people separated her from freedom. As she walked, she realized her feet hurt. Too much dancing, she reasoned.

Her hands finally met the metal handle, worn down in two spots by fellow asylum seekers. She pushed. The cool air outside seemed to suck her into its cold, mind-numbing freshness. A cloak of ice wrapped around her, replacing the coat she now realized had been left inside. The alley was mounded with snow, partially covering the trash and cigarette butts strewn along the concrete. Ash from recently lit embers rested in little pockmarks along the white surface. She imagined the bitter scent that wafted with the smoke.

The tendrils of cooled smoke drifted, pushed along by the December wind, until they reached a solid mass of black and split. The mass turned out to be a shoe, which was attached to a man's leg. Shikamaru's leg, she discovered as her eyes traveled north. His unnerving stare had made a comeback, rising phoenix-like out of the ashes at his feet.

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Kisses for reviews!


	6. Chapter 6

Whoah! What is this witchery? Two posts in one week? What is wrong (or right) with the world? The Apocalypse!

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"Oh. Hello," she said, surprise washing away her vow of silence.

"Hey," he replied.

The chill in the air was doing absolutely nothing to dissipate the extreme awkwardness of their sudden togetherness. They both knew of the unspoken question hanging in the air, yet neither wanted to acknowledge the confusion of what their friendship had morphed into.

Ino, apparently the braver of the two, decided to rip off the bandage quickly. "So, um, Ami seems like a sweet girl." She tried to force a smile, but failed, and settled on crossing her arms instead. Goosebumps, brought on by the cold, were starting to form.

Shikamaru gave her a weird, questioning look. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You guys seem to get along really well." Was that a shiver? _Damnit_, Ino thought. She should've brought her coat.

"Well, she _is_ my secretary. Why are you shivering?" Through the motion-sensor light, Ino could see that Shikamaru's eyes were narrowing into another intense stare.

She waved him off. "It's no big deal," she said, just as another bout of tiny vibrations worked their way down her spine, causing her to curse inwardly. "Anyways, shouldn't you stop calling her your secretary? I mean, at least outside of work. It's kind of weird to go on a date with someone and call them your secretary. Equality of the relationship and all." She was rambling. Stupid nerves. Stupid cold. Stupid Shikamaru.

"Relationship? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You. Her. This party. You guys are on a date."

Shikamaru snorted. "Troublesome. I didn't bring her here on a _date_." He said the word with a surprising amount of venom. "I brought her here because she doesn't want to be my goddamn secretary all her life and there are enough drunk, old higher ups here for her to work her way into an interview with."

"Oh …" Well, Ino felt like an idiot.

She was preparing herself to speak when a violent shiver ran through her, and her teeth started clanking repeatedly against each other. The surprising revelation had shocked the cold right out of her, but the chill had come back with a vengeance.

"Damnit Ino, are you _trying_ to kill yourself?" Shikamaru's voice had risen into what Ino described as his "yelling" voice, though the level of volume and emotion had changed only slightly. Still, this was a significant difference, and it surprised Ino with its implied intensity.

"M-maybe I am, Sh-sh-shikamaru." Wow. The sudden clapping of her teeth really made Ino sound like Hinata. It was aggravating. No wonder the Hyuuga barely spoke. "Maybe I h-have a f-f-f-forbidden love."

"Don't be stupid." Shikamaru shrugged off his own winter coat and handed it to Ino. "Here," he said, then continued on. "No one is ever forbidden to you."

Ino took the coat, scrunching the thick fabric, examining the folds. "You are," she said in a quiet voice, staring at the coat.

Shikamaru didn't move. "What?" he asked, seemingly shocked into immobility.

Might as well fess up and get it out of her system. "Well, I know it has come late, and believe me, it was a horrifying realization at the time, but now I think it's the truth and I kind of like it. No, I really like it. I like that I love you and maybe you don't like that, but whatever. It's how I feel and if it's taken me forever to realize it, then you can just deal." The adrenaline warming Ino's blood had done away with any semblance of a stutter, but made the inane rambling return.

She looked up. Shikamaru's face was blank and calculating all at once. She recognized it as the expression he pulled when working on an unexpectedly problematic equation. She felt proud that she was complication in his usually simple world, but didn't like how long it was taking the boy who was always twelve steps ahead of everyone to figure this out.

She sighed, turning towards the street. She was pretty sure there was enough money in her purse for a cab. She could just pick up her coat from the hall tomorrow. Entering the door meant going closer to Shikamaru, and she really didn't feel like doing that. All she wanted was to get home and collapse on her bed.

"Wait," she heard from behind her.

She turned, annoyed with his command and lack of quick thinking.

"I think I love you, too," he rambled off, words uncommonly rushed.

"What?" she asked, her mind going blank, not registering what had just been said. Surely she'd heard him wrong.

A kiss affirmed his statement. She wouldn't have known what it was had her eyes not been open to witness the brown ponytail that was now directly in front of her and seen Shikamaru's mouth alight on her own. It started sweet, a barely-there caress, bonded by the interlocking vapors of their breaths. Then, as answers were realized and decisions made, the kisses started to get deeper, more intense. Ino fought for dominance, not able to give up on long-established habits. The miniature clouds thickened and puffed up spontaneously.

Ino felt the caress of a cloud on her cheek. No, not a cloud. It was too solid to be a cloud, and it was warm. She broke her mind away from the amazing make-out session to consider it. The experience was like having smooth, tiny pebbles lazily brushed across her cheek. It was an all too familiar sensation that trickled down her neck to her still-bare back, simultaneously creating and soothing the goose bumps on her skin.

Suddenly, she realized what she was feeling and broke off their latest kiss. She didn't really mean to ruin the romance, but the very unladylike snort that escaped her nose had a mind of its own. Shikamaru stared at her, wondering what had brought on the insanity.

After a few minutes of seemingly unprovoked giggles, Ino finally straightened up. Her face was blotchy and tears of laughter still pooled in her eyes. Instead of speaking immediately, she grabbed one of Shikamaru's hands and swept her thumbs over the palm, as if she were examining it. Instead of rough, perpetually tanned skin, her touch found gnarls of fabric in a sickening, puke green color.

She thrust Shikamaru's hand into his own face, forcing him to look curiously at his own appendage. "This," Ino said, "is the reason all of _this_," she gestured to their post-kissing bedragglement, "ever happened."

Shikamaru, for once, was totally lost. "My gloves forced us to make out?"

"No, stupid," Ino said, withering look in place. "If it weren't for these damned things, we wouldn't be here, wouldn't have done _this_. I swear, these things may be the ugliest things in the world, but they're, like, our love token."

"_Love token_?" The disbelief was clear in Shikamaru's voice.

"Yes, 'love token,'" Ino said, eyes challenging him to make fun of the phrase.

Shikamaru breathed heavily out of his nose, a sign he was too unmotivated to conjure up an actual sigh. "Aren't love tokens usually, I don't know, more _girly_ than this? All covered in hearts and pink and lace? I seem to remember you once referring to these as 'straight from the swamps of Hell'."

"People change," Ino huffed defensively. "Besides, each token is personal and specific to the couple it represents. It's not _my_ fault ours is so gruesome."

"Whatever."

Ino smiled, glad with her victory. Her happiness did not, however, prevent a little strand of guilt from working its way up into her mind. Not two minutes after getting together and she had caused them to get into their first argument. She decided to make it up to Shikamaru.

Then she got an idea. An awful idea! A wonderfully, awful idea.

Drawing up every ounce of effortless sensuality she possessed, Ino slinked up to Shikamaru and whispered in his ear. He tensed up, cheeks instantly flushing at the words.

Ino giggled, realizing she had completely shut his mind down.

She felt compelled to take charge in this moment of him being helplessness. Promising to return, she ventured off to hail a cab, leaving Shikamaru standing alone in the alley.

As his mental gears started to move again, Shikamaru noted the absence of his companion. He could faintly make out her silhouette through the just beginning snowfall, illuminated by the streetlight. Brushing the accumulated powder out of his hair, he started to walk after her.

Looking down at his hands, he rubbed the fabric-covered palms together. He kept the motion constant as he walked, making sure to fully heat the gloves. After all, he mused, if Ino planned to keep her promise tonight, he wanted to make sure her only stitch of clothing would keep her comfortably warm.

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I FINALLY FINISHED SOMETHING. Heck yeah! Reviews for some jam, cause y'all are my bread and butter! :D


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